for the superficial, you will
scarcely find me ready to dig laboriously into the depths. I am now a
bourgeois. I am done with my former state," he concluded, smiling.

Peter Schmidt, as a practising physician, expressed his satisfaction with
this mood of Frederick's.

"To be sure," he said, "you will change again."

"Time will show, but I think not," rejoined Frederick.

Indian lore had a fascination for Peter Schmidt. He liked to go to
certain spots in the hilly country to which history or legend attaches
stories of the conflicts between the first white colonists and the
Indians, and remain there a long time, mentally living over again the
experiences of the fur trappers and the tenacious wrestling of the
settlers for possession. Sometimes, in a wave of warlike feeling, he
would draw his revolver and shoot at a mark. Frederick was no match for
him as a marksman.

"The blood of the old German adventurers and colonists is flowing in your
veins," he said. "A finished civilisation, over-ripe and over-refined
such as ours, really does not suit you. Where you ought to be is in a
wilderness with a Utopia hovering above."

"The world is still not much more than a wilderness," said Peter. "It
will be quite a while before the structure of our cosmic philosophy will
stand on a solid foundation. In short, Frederick, much remains to be
done."

"Like the Lord God, I shall knead human beings from wet clay and inspire
them with a living breath."

"Stuff and nonsense!" said Peter Schmidt. "Making dolls like that leads
nowhere. You are too good to be doing it. You belong on the ramparts, in
the front ranks of the battle line, my dear boy."

"I for my part," said Frederick, smiling, "have stipulated an armistice
for the next few years. I want for once to try to get on with what the
world is able to offer. I want to disaccustom myself as much as possible
from reflection and dreams."

Frederick felt it was his duty to persuade his friend, both for his own
and for his wife's sake, to return to Europe.

"Peter," he said, "the Americans have no use for a man like you. You
cannot recommend patent medicines, nor can you by administering small
doses keep a man chained to his bed for two months when you can cure him
with quinine in a week. You have none of those characteristics which in
the eyes of the average American make an aristocrat. From the American
point of view you are a simpleton, because you are always ready to
sacrifice